


Two souls wandering the face of the earth

by bluestdream



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Slow Burn, The Unknown
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:08:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26480005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestdream/pseuds/bluestdream
Summary: The trip to the Vale had been for nought. Lysa Aryn was dead.Clegane stared at the sleeping figure curled beside the camp fire. Arya Stark, noble princess, pigheaded, wolfish, and now ward of Dog Clegane. What a fucking laugh.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Arya Stark
Comments: 16
Kudos: 64





	1. Together and apart

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic (I'm a bit late to the GOT series). Bear with me and I hope you like it.

The trip to the Vale had been for nought. Lysa Aryn was dead.

Clegane stared at the sleeping figure curled beside the camp fire. Arya Stark, noble princess, pigheaded, wolfish, and now ward of Dog Clegane. What a fucking laugh.

He should have forced her to stay at the Vale, but instead he let her follow him back out of the Bloody Gates, right toward more misery, there was little doubt of that. Why? He didn’t know.

The wind whistled by the rock they took shelter against. Stranger whinnied.

He could leave now. She probably wouldn’t wake. He could get on Stranger and ride into the night. She would never catch up.

Arya stirred mid morning. Sitting up, she surveyed the space around her as confusion dawned. The sun was awfully high…

Clegane lumbered around the corner moments later, refixing his belt.

“You let me sleep in. Why!” Arya demanded, kicking her bedroll off and standing.

“Why not?” He replied.

“Because… because it’s dangerous. We should keep moving from dawn til dusk. That’s what you always say.”

Clegane gestured at the open air over the cliff side mere feet away. “I don’t see anyone around. Do you?”

Arya frowned, but almost immediately the expression was gone, replaced by carefully chosen neutrality. She had been doing that more and more lately, and Clegane didn’t care for it. “So you don’t mind if we’re attacked now? Is that it?”

He stomped past her for Stranger’s saddle, not bothering to answer stupid musings.

Arya trembled inside, full to the point of bursting with fear and sadness and desperation, but she refused to let it show. Instead she wandered to the cliff side. It was awfully steep, and if one fell it might be the last thing they ever did… She stared out over the barren land below that fed into a thick tree line. She had no one, now. Truly no one. Except _him_ , of course, but he hardly counted.

Clegane watched as he saddled Stranger and then Craven and got their possessions together. Arya stood like a statue, her hair puffing in the wind every now and again. She was awfully close to the edge of the cliff, and seemed to be creeping ever closer. Or maybe that was just his imagination.

“Girl,” he called. She shot a stormy look over her shoulder. Better than nothing, he thought. Smoothly he hoisted himself atop his towering steed and directed him toward the downward path. “Next time, you saddle your own horse.”

Arya huffed and trampled over. She, too, smoothly sat atop her pony, and together they moved forward, destination unknown.

They rode all day in silence. Clegane had settled on going East, toward Braavos. The girl mentioned the place once or twice, perhaps she was right about it. Or perhaps it would be another major disappointment, if they made it at all.

They entered the woodlands just as the sun began to hide itself. There was a large puff of smoke rising to the West. Arya wanted to investigate, but Clegane already knew what they’d find. Death. The army had marched through whatever small town laid there, killing and taking everything in its path like a merciless tide. He knew it all too well.

As they travelled the thought of the Vale kept entering his mind, as it had last night; _she should be there, not with you. Not with a turn tail Lannister Dog. You are only putting her at risk._

He was annoyed with himself because this was all a mistake. And the further he rode her into the distance the more irrevocable the mistake became. Yet he couldn’t tell her to go back. When the words rose up they died in his throat.

“Should we make camp here?” Her voice came from behind.

“We won’t get anywhere with you sleeping all the time.” He snapped back, instantly regretting it.

He could feel Arya’s eyes boring into his back, and heard the soft thud of her shoes as she slid off of Craven. He halted Stranger and dismounted; relief for being vertical washing over his aching bones.

She lit the fire - she had become very adept at that - while he went off in search of meat minus a lecture about staying put. They were sorely in need of the protein, having subsisted on bread and soup water for far too long.

Arya stared into the flames. Those same thoughts, the ones she had on the cliff side, returned. Why was she here? Or fighting? What was there to fight for? She may very well be the last Stark alive. The end of an era. 

Rustling caught her attention and her hand automatically found needle. Clegane appeared from the shadows, two bunnies hanging limply from his left hand.

Her stomach growled at the sight. Clegane got to work preparing them, and her hunger was replaced by a dull sickness. _Poor things. You were just trying to survive, too, weren’t you? And now you’re our dinner._

Clegane skewered the rabbits and set them over the flames, turning them carefully every now and again, a meaty aroma wafting into the brisk night.

He and Arya devoured one each. They were gone all too quickly. Clegane put on a pot of water and added the bones to top up their soup supply. You could live off of it if it was made from bones, if you absolutely had to, though it would hardly be pleasant.

“I still don’t know where we’re going.” Arya stated just as Clegane had begun to close his eyes.

“Braavos.” He replied flatly.

She looked at him, shocked. “Braavos? But…”

“You wanted to go there. You still do… don’t you?” He looked back. There was a chance the girl had changed her mind. In that case… well, fuck if he knew.

“Yes but, I just wasn’t expecting it. You should have said something.”

“I only just found out myself.” He pointedly closed his eyes, hoping she would shut up.

“But… Braavos is so far away. It’ll take a really long time to get there. We don’t have enough food or water or-“

“Has that stopped you before?” He sighed, more tired than he had been in a long time.

“No.” She said firmly, as if suddenly realising it for herself. She quietened and nestled into her bedroll, though did not sleep. Someone’s eyes had to be open when they were exposed like this, and if they weren’t Clegane’s, they would be hers. Her mind went to Braavos, and to Jaqen and his promise, but the thought of them did not ignite hope like it had before the Vale, before the Twins. All she could think about was the fact that she was moving in the opposite direction of those she despised, of those who had hurt her loved ones, like a coward.  
She stared into the sparking void of the night sky and traced Nymeria into the stars, and then her father, and then her mother, and then Robb...

He woke with a start, sweating though it was cool. Arya was asleep and the fire was coals. He stood and paced away to clear his head.  
What a mess of dreams that had been. Disturbing ones filled with blood and screaming. Ones where she… no, he rather not dwell on falsehoods. She was well and alive and that was real.

He returned to camp after a long walk. Arya was up and stoking the coals with a stick, her bedroll already packed. She watched him walk over, her eyes filled with something he couldn’t figure out; though it was obvious she wanted to say something quite badly. It reeked off of her, but she was too stubborn to speak up. He was troubled by how well he was beginning to know her.

“Out with it.” He finally said, ten minutes into their ride and driven nearly mad by her incessant sideways glancing.

She looked a little surprised, but it went as fast as it came. “I’m not sure if we should go to Braavos.”

Clegane pulled Stranger to an abrupt halt. “The fuck did you say?”

Arya gently stopped her pony. “I said-“

“I heard you! Why are you saying it?”

“I… what’s there? What’s there for me?” Her eyes dropped to her hands. “Everyone’s dead. You know that.”

Her tone was low and stippled in sadness, causing a tight anger to pull within Clegane. Anger directed at all of those who had ruined her life, and the life of her family, and the life of thousands of families. And at himself. “Aye.”

She looked up, face trained again, but her eyes betrayed her. “So what’s the point?”

“What’s the alternative? Lie down and die?”

She looked away again. “I would never do that. Ever. But I don’t want to run either. I want to fight for my families honor. I want to show them, show them they can’t just kill everyone!” Emotion bristled out of her, flushing her cheeks. She looked younger like this. Young and bewildered. “I want to die showing them that, with honor!”

“Is that what you’ve been up all night thinking about?” He asked, genuinely curious.

“My family is dead. What else should I be thinking about?” She replied sharply.

Clegane relented. Of course, she was right. But he hadn’t meant it that way. “There’s no honor killing. Haven’t you figured that out yet?” He moved Stranger closer to Craven. “And there’s no honor dying, either.”

Tears spilled out of her large eyes. She aggressively met them with her palms, swiping them away. “Then forget honor. I don’t care about it. I just want them to pay.”

He didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. She was from another world and another time. She was obsessed with this idea of vengeance, he knew this already and did not blame her or fault her for he carried a similar obsession, but this was something else. In her plans of old, her death never figured because she didn’t intend to die. But things had changed.

“I won’t tell you who not to kill,” he said as soothingly as he could. “But if you’re serious about your families honor, you will survive them.”

She gripped her reigns tightly, the anger in her turning outward. “Why do you care? I could leave right now and no longer be your problem. That’s what you wanted.”

“Aye. It was,” he stated, and now it was his turn to be uncertain. She sensed it and stared at him. He felt exposed and broke his gaze. “You may be capable, but you’re still not ready to survive on your own.”

It was true, they both knew it.

“You can use me as a means to an end. That would be the smart thing to do.”

He pulled Stranger away.

As clumsily as he had dealt with a she wolf in crisis, by miracle it seemed to have worked, for now. She prodded her pony onward, and the tears dried up.


	2. If you close your eyes it doesn't exist

They came across the burnt out camp mid afternoon. Clegane stopped Arya with a raised hand while dismounting. He drew his greatsword and moved with stealth at odds with his size to explore the blind corner ahead.

Arya watched intensely from Craven. She needn’t keep an eye on her own surrounds because Stranger would kick up if anything, even a shrew, approached. Unless there were bowmen hidden in the bushes, of course… she quickly checked around her. Clegane was gone when she looked back.

He crept across marshy leaves rather than the track where sticks could give him away. If anyone was in waiting, the last thing they would see was his sword raised above his head.

But there was no one. Not living, at least.

What were once several carts lie blackened and scattered nearby a kicked out camp fire. Empty bags, torn and plundered, lie with them. There were bodies, too. Two burned like the carts, limbs contorted every which way, and two stabbed, he presumed. They lie in pools of their own rotting juices, face down. It was apparent one was a child.

The smell was bad up close, though the cold had dampened it greatly.

Clegane sheathed his sword and headed back for the girl. She was waiting with one hand reaching out to touch Stranger idly.

“What is it?” She asked.

He mounted his steed and directed him around the mess. “Ambushed.”

“By who?”

“Fuck if I know. Bandits, maybe.”

“But wouldn’t...“, she trailed off at sight of the bodies.

He glanced over his shoulder; Arya's expression was blank.

They stopped at midnight to rest. Though neither said it aloud, they both wished to put a great deal of land between themselves and the wretched souls left behind. With no rabbits in sight they made do with soup before settling down.

Clegane watched the girl tend to Craven, calmly brushing the pony and checking its feet, a far cry from the anguish of earlier. She tried to groom Stranger once, but he had snorted and gone to bite her – he laughed long and hard at that – and she hadn’t tried since.

She swept a hand down Craven’s flank and lightly slapped his rump. Then she sat by the fire, unaware of her audience as she slipped her boots off and emptied each one of the dirt she had accumulated, shivering from the loss warmth.

Rotted corpses danced across his mind, reenacting his dream; he and Arya in another, unluckier life, or perhaps their future.

_She thinks you know what you're doing._

Gods, Gulltown better have passage for Braavos. Then all of this would make sense.

Their eyes met, hers framed by a frown.

He took a great interest in the fire after she caught him watching her. Back to work on her socks this time, she pinched them off, whiffed them and made a sour face before laying them out to air. She unfurled her bedroll and sat cross legged on it, hands outstretched by the fire. She thought it was strange, him talking her down like he had. As much as she hated to admit it the Dog’s words had done something to her. Focused her, she supposed. Braavos seemed like a smart idea once more.

Clegane lazily reached for his wineskin, hooking it with a fingertip. He reeled it back, popped the cork, and downed a long pull. There wasn’t much left.

He made to set it down but hesitated before holding it out toward the girl. She deserved a deep sleep and it would certainly knock her out.

She rose swiftly and took it, struggled with the cork, and then sipped most of what remained. "Thanks."

He nodded and finshed it off.

Arya stared up at the sky. Her family was still in the stars, just where she had left them; twinkling eyes watching expectantly. 

"What do you see up there?" Clegane wondered aloud.

"The dead," she uttered sadly. He stared where she did. Nothing but distant fire. “…you could have left me at the Eyrie.”

“You could have stayed at the Eyrie.”

A chill tickled her spine at the thought of living with Littlefinger. Clegane misinterpreted it and threw another log on the fire.

“There was no point staying. If anything's left of my family they're at Castle Black.”

He laughed once from his belly. “Good luck getting up there.”

“ _You_ could get there though, couldn’t you? If you had to?”

How much faith did the girl have in him, exactly? “I'm not a fucking one man army.”

She obviously didn’t believe him, and it made his gut do a sick roll.

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. We’re going to Braavos.”

He studied her. “That’s right… Have you changed your mind again?"

"No." 

"Good."

Blessed silence fell between them, for Clegane at least.

Thoughts of the Eyrie filled Arya’s mind.

Clegane left the way they came the moment news of Lysa’s death sunk into his thick skull; Arya’s manic laugh still echoing off the narrow passage flanking them. Waves of fury emanated from him as she followed him out the Bloody Gates.

No Gold. All for nothing. Hound high and dry…

“Why are you helping me?” She felt compelled to ask. She wasn't ready to look after herself, but that wasn't his problem. “There’s no gold in it anymore.”

Clegane scoffed. “Who says there’s no gold?” 

“So you have a secret deal set up, then-”

"Do you ever shut up?" 

"What am I to think if you won't even answer? It could be a trap. So Why!"

He groaned as he stood, “There's no _why_ , girl,” and ambled toward the trees.

“Where are you going?” She called after him.

Questions, especially ones with little warning, late at night, and coming out of _her_ mouth irritated him. “To piss, want to watch?”

“Disgusting.” Arya spat, burrowing into her bedroll. " _Joffrey, Cersei, Walder Frey..."_

He found a gnarled tree struggling to retain its foliage and pissed on its roots. After, he rounded to the other side, taking in its raggedy form.

_Is this how you make up for it, for a lifetime of cruelty, by dragging along a poor little wolf bitch until you feel better?_

No, he knew this wasn't about his own salvation. He had never been interested in that…

Seven Hell's she pissed him off, crawling under his skin with her endless fucking chatter. Bringing things up that needn't be. Why couldn’t she just take his help and be done with it?

_It's your own fault._

Aye.

He dragged a gloved hand through his hair. The girl was still in crisis. Perhaps he was being too hard on her. He knew she didn't really think this was all a trap, she just didn’t like not knowing things. She always had to have the scoop and otherwise drove her mad. But there was no scoop to give, there was only bitter confusion. If Gulltown lacked passage to Essos Arya would demand to head for Black Fucking Castle or the Twins and leave without him if he declined. 

A stinging breeze needled the unscared side of his face. Colder, every night colder. Winter was coming.

_Will you hold her to keep her warm?_

The errant thought took him by surprise and he cursed himself for thinking… what, exactly? Of course he would hold her, if she let him, if he had to, during a freezing night if the worst were to eventuate. There was nothing wrong with the idea, and so there was nothing to curse. Nothing at all.

He was just watching over her... Someone had to.

With quick dexterity he unsheathed his greatsword and drove it deep into the gnarled tree's side. He did it thrice more, harder each time, leaving a gaping wound in his wake.

Sword sheathed, breaths deep and even, he walked back to camp.

_Get her to Braavos. That's what she needs. Nothing more. Nothing less._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the encouraging comments on the last chapter!  
> I'm a couple ahead so I should have them up fairly regularly.


	3. Not alone

Far below the rocky cliffs surrounding the Eyrie lie two Eastward options: woodlands or windswept plains.

Woodlands made the most sense. 

As she turned the guard lowered his eyes. "Arya Stark wasn't injured?"

"Not that I could see."

"Was he?"

He shook his head, helmet jiggling.

She surmised The Hound feeling cornered by the news of Lysa Arryn's death. Arya had become dead weight. Her only hope now was that he did not dispatch of his hostage before she could reach them.

East. What lay further East that could possibly interest him? It puzzled her.

"Milady," came Podricks voice. "The horses are ready."

She bowed. "Thank you, Podrick."


	4. As close as the moon

Bundled in her bedroll, Arya awaited the telltale sound of Cleganes return: crunching leaves and twigs. He had been gone for over an hour, and a small part of her wondered if he would ever be back. Then she heard it, his unmistakable footfall, and immediately buried her head under the covers.

She didn’t want him to know she fought the dizzy sleep tugging at her eyelids because she was annoyed and upset and afraid. He would probably call her a fool.

As he approached camp, Arya tracked his steps until they stopped and turned to kicking dirt over the smouldering remains of their fire. That meant it was time to leave soon, even if neither of them had had any sleep, she lamented while stifling a yawn. 

The sound of crickets and wind picked up outside her covers, and she realised belatedy that Clegane had gone quiet. He was lying down, likely, yet something kept her from peering out to check.

He stood watching the girl for some time, his thoughts not in any one place for long.

Then he went to Stranger and took a rag from his rucksack.

Retreating footfall dragged Arya from the swell of sleep she hadn’t realised took her, and slowly she lowered her covers. Almost as dark as it was inside her bedroll, it took a moment to locate Clegane.

He sat in the shadows on a rock nearby, tending to his sword with, she knew, the same rag that he seemed to have with him all of the time. She used it on needle once. It smelled like lamp oil.

Unaware of Arya’s gaze Clegane methodically cleaned his steel; it didn’t need it, it was just something to pass the time. Once finished he cut two slow arcs through the air before pointing the blade out in front of him, inspecting its moonlit edge.

She didn't like to admit (even to herself) that she felt fear around him sometimes. That night was one such time, and for no real reason at all.

Her ego lowered by wine, Arya wondered what she would do if the Hound were to turn on her.

Clegane had already gotten most of their things together, she noted after waking, though stopped short of saddling Craven. 

While rolling up her bedroll Arya spotted a bundle of sticks lying nearby Stranger. Clegane reappeared from the woods moments later holding another bundle.

She wanted to ask what they were for but decided against it, instead turning her back to him while saddling her pony.

Though the sun was high and bright in the sky, a chill laced each and every breath of wind. Arya, hungry and desperate for something more substantial than flavoured water, felt it acutely. She rummaged in her belongings for her tattered spare tunic.

Clegane fixed both bundles onto Stranger's saddle bags, one eye on the girl. The woodland strip between the Eyrie and Gulltown didn’t last forever, though it felt like it. Soon the trees would thin out to rocky lowland wedged between mountain ranges - the last stretch before township. He expected another night and days journey to cross it if they couldn't forge ahead without stopping, and there would be very little fire starting material amongst crags of rock and dirt.

Over his lifetime he had travelled many Westeros lowlands. They all had one thing in common: wind. If she thought it chilled now, she was in for a surprise.

Miles and miles of samey woods and rocks passed them by, and Arya began to wonder if Clegane even knew how to get to a port for Braavos.

A little behind him, she stared from the scabbard on his hip to his mail covered back. He only removed his armour to bathe, and she wondered how uncomfortable it was to wear all of the time. She remembered when she used to ride with him, how she complained back then that his gauntlets were scratching her wherever they touched. In response Clegane had chastised her, and she hated him thoroughly for it. Yet the next day the gauntlets were gone only to appear again when she got her own pony.

Their travels were filled with incidents like those. One moment he was cutting down butchers boy and then men who wanted to kill her, the next mocking her family in the cruellest way, then teaching her how to kill quickly with a sword like Needle, and now… now helping her freely without a why… She didn’t understand him, and it seemed he preferred it that way.

Sharply her thoughts turned to her family, along with a heavy twinge of shame. How could she sit there trying to figure out the man who had kidnapped her for ransom in favour of thinking about her own loved ones, or the steps required for their vengeance-

“See those clouds, girl,” came Clegane’s voice as if from far away.

Moodily, she traced the sky and was struck by the mountainous grey-white clouds rolling in the distance. She hadn’t even noticed them, too busy in her own head.

“They come from the sea,” he continued. “Means we’re close.”


End file.
